


Playing Fast & Loose

by Sadie Jamieson (shiny_silver_socks)



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Age Difference, Drinking, F/M, Flappers, set in australia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-28 17:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_silver_socks/pseuds/Sadie%20Jamieson
Summary: Charlie just wanted a quiet pint. He doesn't quite get it.





	Playing Fast & Loose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aquatics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquatics/gifts).

> Technically, this is set in Melbourne in the mid-1920s, but has not been Aussie-picked, so please forgive any obvious Americanisms. Title is from "All That Jazz" from the musical Chicago.
> 
> Aquatics, all your requests were so good, I had trouble narrowing it down to just one. I hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t unheard of for the posh set to find their way to this particular sly-grog shop, tucked out back of a boarding house more than a mile from the city center. Usually it was a couple blokes from the University slumming it for a laugh, some drunks looking to throw punches at commos, or very rarely, a married man and his side-piece wanting to go out without the chance of being seen by anyone who mattered. But Charlie couldn’t ever remember seeing a group as decked out as the one that had just blown in through the door as if they owned the place: two blokes in tuxedos that smelled of fancy cigars, and a pair of flappers, barely old enough to drive, one brunette, one blonde, and both practically dripping jewels that sparkled too well to be paste. 

Charlie pursed his lips and turned his attention back to his lager, which was frustratingly full. He had no patience for people like them, but he wasn’t the type to walk away from a full beer, not when he was barely scraping by on what jobs he could get with his bum leg. He resolved to ignore the newcomers, finish his beer, and go home with a pint of something stronger to drink himself to sleep in peace.

He’d nearly finished when someone laid a hand on his forearm. He couldn’t quite make out what they said over the low chatter in the room and the tinkle of the piano in the corner, so he turned, expecting someone he knew, only to be shocked to find the blonde smiling winningly at him. Her hair was cut fashionably short, the ends curling toward her chin, and her bright red lips were a stark contrast to her white teeth. Her blue eyes sparkled even more than the diamonds hanging from her ears, and Charlie felt a little stunned.

“Excuse me?”

She laughed and slid her hand down his bare forearm to his wrist, and even through the silk of her gloves, he could feel her body heat. “Dance with me. Please?”

Charlie arched a curious brow at her and glanced over her shoulder to her friends. The brunette and one of the chaps were dancing to the cheerful, upbeat music, the click of their shoes on the floor surprisingly rhythmic for all that they were clearly drunk as hell. The other bloke leaned against the wall, a full pint glass in his hand as his eyes shot daggers at Charlie. “Seems you already have a dance partner,” Charlie said, nodding his way.

“Oh, Werther?” She turned and wiggled her gloved fingers at the glowering man in question before shifting her attention back to Charlie. “He’s nice enough, and he’s absolute piles of money, but between you and me,” she said, leaning in close enough that he could feel her warm, gin-scented breath on his cheek, “he’s thick as a plank. I’m dying for some decent conversation.”

“And you picked me for that,” he said, finding himself distracted by the bosom of her glittery dress falling away from her chest, allowing a glimpse of small, rounded breasts.

She pursed her bright red lips and looked at him under lowered lashes. “That empty pint glass is a better conversationalist than Werther. Come on,” she asked, her voice dropping to a more intimate octave, “indulge a little.”

Despite himself, Charlie felt a pulse of arousal low in his stomach. She wasn’t his usual type—too young, too waify, too rich—but damned if she didn’t know how to use her charms, meagre though they may be. He shook his head. “Rather not get my face bashed in, if it’s all the same to you,” he said, flicking his eyes back to Werther. “No matter how fetching you look in that dress, ma’am,” he added, ducking low to whisper that last in her ear. He sat up, finished the last dregs of his lager, and placed his hat on his head, tipping the brim up at the front with a nod to the girl. “Good night, miss.”

He’d nearly made it to the street when the Werther bloke grabbed his arm, pulling him off balance. “Oi, mate! I want a word with you.”

Charlie stumbled a little as too much weight landed on his bad leg. “I don’t have any problem with you, mate,” he said, peeling the man’s hand off his arm. 

“And what if I have a problem with you?” the man slurred back. “You ought to keep your filthy hands off your betters.”

Charlie snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind when I meet some.”

The man balled up his fist, ready to take a swing at Charlie, when a high-pitched peal of laughter rang out and stopped him in his tracks. “Oh, for god’s sake, Werther,” the girl said, “you’re being quite ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Werther spun to face the girl, but didn’t lower his fist, causing Charlie to grit his teeth against his own anger. “You’re the one being ridiculous, Nora, cozying up to some— some— some commo,” he spat.

The anger gave way to laughter, and Werther turned his attention back to Charlie. “If calling me a commo is the worst insult you can think of, mate, I think your girl here’s got it wrong.”

Werther frowned at him, his fist dropping slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, she said you were thick as a plank,” Charlie said, glancing over to wink at the girl. “I think she undersold you by a few boards.”

Werther’s angry yell was more than enough warning for Charlie to duck out of the way of a slow-moving fist that swung toward his head. It slammed into the wall with a crack as the rest of the shop erupted in shouts and jeers. Werther turned back to attempt another wild haymaker, leaving his side open for a quick jab to the kidney, which sent him crashing backwards into the table behind him. 

The sound of breaking glass and a woman’s angry screech followed Charlie as he made his way, limping, toward the door. Once he was sure Werther wasn’t following, he slowed down, eventually stopping to lean against the wall of a nearby building and roll a smoke. 

“Need a light?”

The girl’s voice came out of the darkness, and Charlie jumped, spilling a bit of his tobacco on the ground. “Shouldn’t go sneaking up on people like that,” he snapped.

The girl—Nora, he remembered—laughed. “Sorry, I’ll be louder next time,” she said, flicking open a silver lighter and stepping close. He finished rolling the cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and leaned in to let her light it. As he put his rolling papers and tobacco away, she rummaged around in her small handbag. “I’m sorry about Werther,” she said, lighting a slim cigarette in a thin black holder. “I didn’t think he’d react that way, but I shouldn’t have used you to provoke him.”

Charlie nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed, watching her lips purse around the cigarette holder. After a long moment, he glanced down at her. “Name’s Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” she said, offering him her free hand, still encased in a silky glove. “Nora.”

They smoked in silence for a while, until Charlie rubbed the end on the brick wall and stood up. “Good night, ma’am.”

Before he could turn away, she caught his hand and pulled him close, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Let me make it up to you,” she said, voice low and intimate.

“Don’t need your pity, little girl,” he growled, his desire warring with his common sense. Getting involved with a girl like her, even for a night, couldn’t end well, not for a man like him. 

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him down at the same time as she went up on her tiptoes, bringing their mouths together. She kissed him like a woman used to getting what she wanted, alternating soft, coaxing kisses with sharp, demanding nips at his lips. Charlie groaned and reached down, cupping her backside with his free hand and pulling her body against his; she let out a pleased sigh when she felt him hard against her.

Eventually she pulled back, looking up at him with eyes dark with desire and flushed cheeks. “I don’t pity you; I want you.”

Her words burned away the last of his common sense, and Charlie leaned back in. “Mine’s just around the corner,” he said, in between searing kisses.

“Good,” she said, leaning in for another long, lingering kiss. “Take me home with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, if you were wondering, I did watch Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries on repeat while writing this. I'm <strike>not </strike> a little bit sorry.


End file.
